The Peak
by Kendoka Girl
Summary: In the ongoing war against the Blight and Teyrn Loghain, an expedition is mounted to reclaim haunted Soldiers Peak. Told from several POV's.
1. A Quest for Honor

**W/N - **Holy moly it's been a long time. I apologize to any readers as I completely lost my train of thought on where I was in the ongoing tale so I'm just starting fresh with Soldiers Peak. I've got a few POV's to hopefully fill in around the gameplay to keep things fresh. Let's start out with Levi Dryden and his quest to restore his family honor. I was sort of an SCA camp follower in the past and have had some exposure to armor and 'medieval life,' plus I did some research on the topic along with heraldry.

**CODEX**

Palfrey – a riding horse  
>Master Wade – quirky master armorer in Denerim<br>Harness – suit of armor, particularly plate  
>Fluting – pleats in the armor for strength and decoration<br>Cuirass – breastplate  
>Caparison – saddle cloth<br>_Combatant_ – heraldic term for two animals facing each other  
>Sallet – a squat looking full helmet with a wide brim to protect the neck. Often worn with a moveable visor and throat guard<br>Cinquedea – a broad bladed dagger the width of five fingers  
>Bevor – throat guard<p>

**The Warden's Camp – Sunrise**

The day had finally come – the Warden was mounting an expedition to explore and, if possible, retake Soldiers Peak, the austere and reputedly impregnable fortress of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden before it was lost through rebellion and disaster and passed into legend. In the two hundred years since then, other expeditions had made the trek up the treacherous road to try and make their fortunes, but few had returned and those that did were never the same again and never spoke of it.

In the crisp spring air, Levi Dryden vacillated between elation and fear for hours before the sun actually rose. He had waited years for this day and when it finally arrived his nerves nearly overwhelmed him. Only the hope of restoring some honor to his family kept him going now. This expedition _had_ to succeed - For him, for his brother Mikhail, for his cousins…for his ancestor, Warden Commander Sophia Dryden.

He had gone to great lengths and expense to outfit the Warden's party. Along with the dwarf, Bodahn Feddic, Levi footed the bill for wagons, weapons and provisions.

"All for a good cause, eh, Master Levi?" Bodahn said, sensing his thoughts.

"I…hope so, Bodahn, I've put a lot of coin into this. If it doesn't work I'll have ruined any chance of my family regaining its honor."

"Don't you worry none. I've invested a great deal in the Warden's efforts to defeat the Blight and I've increased my coin by tenfold at least. It's been a very profitable relationship to be sure and I trust her with my life. My son will be well taken care of whatever happens to me," the dwarf said as he pointed to Sandal, who seemed oblivious to the rush of activity in the camp.

Levi reached down and ruffled Sandal's sandy hair. "I'm sure you're right. My whole life I've lived in the shadow of the disgrace Sophia put upon the Drydens. In my heart I know that she was wronged by that fat butcher, Arland. Ah, but I shouldn't talk of such dark things around Sandal."

"My boy's a lot tougher than he looks, Master Levi. All these years and he still surprises me."

Levi was about to respond when the clomp of hooves caught his attention and he turned to see the Warden and Alistair seated on their palfreys, which gave spirited stomps as they came to a stop. The Warden was clad in silver plate, which bore a few nicks and dents that had been hammered back into place by Master Wade. For the first time since they returned from Ostagar months ago, Alistair wore the harness of King Cailan, bronze-colored plates with the symbol of a bull fashioned into the fluting of the cuirass. At his side, the pommel of King Maric's blade sprouted from a leather scabbard. His horse's caparison bore the heraldry of the Theirin family, two wolves _combatant_ on a quartered field of _Or _and _Argent_. The awkward young man truly looked like a king now. But would looks translate into deeds?

Levi bowed as a merchant should to a noble. "My lord, it is good to see you proclaiming your lineage."

Holding his helmet under his arm, Alistair blushed and looked away. "I…I haven't quite done so yet although the time is near. I decided to throw this outfit on so I could get used to the idea," he said with a nervous chuckle.

Maybe he wasn't king material quite yet, Levi mused, but he was a damn sight better than he was months ago when the merchant first visited the camp. And, he was a damn sight better than that witch, Morrigan, gave him credit for. "I'm sure you will do so when the time is right, my lord."

The Warden swung her horse around and pointed a gauntleted finger up the road to Soldier's Peak. "Are you ready, Levi? I want to arrive at the keep by noon so we'll have plenty of daylight to explore. So, you said this place was abandoned, huh?"

"It was when I last saw it…years ago, but I never got the nerve to explore it on my own. It always had a foul feel."

"Well, now you'll have a lot of company."

Levi expected a smile from her, but none was forthcoming and she merely dug her spurs into her horse's flank and trotted off to await the movement of the baggage train. He knew that a lot was riding on this expedition and that everyone was on edge. If all were successful then the Warden would have a new base of operations in which to strike at Teyrn Loghain and Levi Dryden would his family name returned to the roll of nobles in Ferelden.

For years, something called him back here, a distant voice always gnawing in the back of his mind. The merchant blew out a steamy breath and rubbed the cold out of his nose and cheeks. He looked up the long, snow covered road into the fog at the peak and shivered.


	2. Negotiations

**W/N - **I try to stay away from the Warden's POV, but here's one. I'm going to do one with Dog later. Here's my take on the meeting with the Warden Commander with a little possible foreshadowing of DA2. I took a little liberty in portraying demonic possession where a little of the person's humanity remains. Leliana's line refers back to a previous chapter from Andraste's Ashes in which I poked fun at how Father Kolgrim looks like Leonidas of 300. THIS IS SPARTA!

**CODEX**

Palfrey – a riding horse  
>Master Wade – quirky master armorer in Denerim<br>Harness – suit of armor, particularly plate  
>Fluting – pleats in the armor for strength and decoration<br>Cuirass – breastplate  
>Caparison – saddle cloth<br>_Combatant_ – heraldic term for two animals facing each other  
>Sallet – a squat looking full helmet with a wide brim to protect the neck. Often worn with a moveable visor and throat guard<br>Cinquedea – a broad bladed dagger the width of five fingers  
><em>Argent <em>- Silver  
>Bevor – throat guard<p>

**Soldiers Keep**** – Second Floor – Four Hours After Sunset**

The journey up to the peak took far longer than expected – the heavy spring snowfall bogged the party down and they were even forced to leave the baggage train behind when the wagons could make it no farther. It was a difficult decision, but the Warden had to make camp or they would endure unnecessary losses. One mule had already died of exhaustion.

They could only wait two more hours while troops tried to clear the road up to the fabled Grey Warden fortress that had been abandoned for two centuries after the failed coup attempt made by Warden Commander Sophia Dryden. Frustration grew as the icy path refused to yield and the party knew that they would have to press on alone without the wagons and guards…and Wynne. The old mage could walk no further up the rugged trail. "I am sorry, Alice," she told the Warden, "my bones cannot handle this journey. My spirit will be with you and may it give you some protection up there."

In spite of Levi Dryden's guidance and Shale bulldozing the blanket of snow out of the way, progress was slow. The Warden had hoped to arrive at midday, but the sun set just as they arrived at the frozen gates to the keep. In the dark, it would be difficult, at best, to explore the structure, but they could wait no longer or possibly be trapped by more snow. Expecting to find an empty fort, they were surprised to find themselves under assault by waves of frozen skeletons, remains of both attacker and defender alike. Something foul was keeping the souls of the dead in thrall to haunt this once proud keep.

As the party crested the stone staircase to the second floor, it was difficult for the Warden to imagine this desolate, foreboding place as ever having been a home to anyone. The chill cut clear to the bone and the party's torches and lanterns flickered in the icy mist that filled some sort of ceremonial room that had long since fallen into decay. Firelight reflected off of hanging icicles and the polished metal of both sword and armor, casting eerie shadows that heightened the already overwhelming sense of dread that weighed down body and soul. The Warden's hand tightened around the grip of the Cousland sword, her constant companion since the sack of Highever. The feel of her glove on the leather wrapping of the weapon gave her comfort and confidence, two things that were in short supply right now.

The elf, Zevran, slipped past the Warden to scout the way, his feet crunching ever so lightly on the frosty floor. "I hate undead, I really hate them," he muttered under his steamy breath. "There is simply no seducing one," he added for the Warden with a wink. "And their personality…ugh."

Alice could always count on Zev to lighten even the darkest of times. He was a bright spot if ever a distraction for her. She signaled for Leliana and Alistair to cover Zev with their bows and then watched as the elf's eyes and hands swept over the ground and along walls to detect any traps or other…things. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but the Warden seemed to think that it was actually growing colder in the chamber. Only Shale didn't seem to mind the painful chill.

"Levi, do you know what this place is?" she asked their guide.

The merchant held up his hand and a wispy glowing orb lifted from his palm and floated into the room to add light. "I think this was the chapel for the keep. I can see images of Andraste painted into the walls, but someone has marred them. The tapestries and icons have probably long since rotted into dust."

Alice saw the faded paintings of Andraste ruined with deep gouges and burns made into the wood, which was splintered and shattered in places. Someone really wanted to destroy this place of worship. Thus far, Soldier's Peak was filled with nothing but undead spirits trapped this side of the Fade after the Warden Commander's failed rebellion against the paranoid King Arland near 200 years ago. "I hope we are able to find what you are looking for, Mister Dryden," she told Levi. "Your ancestor, Sophia, was a great commander, but something horrible happened here on her watch."

He nodded. "I feel a palpable evil in the air. The veil to the Fade is definitely weakened. The vision that we saw in the gate house…the one where Sophia rallies the Wardens under siege, that must have been an echo left over from the violence of the battle. The Fade is tricky that way."

The Warden could still see that spectral scene in her head. Sophia Dryden was a woman to be reckoned with, a charismatic commander whom people would follow unto death. "It was well known that the rebellion failed, but no one knows just what became of the Wardens of the keep."

Near the left wall, Zevran waved his hand, getting their attention. "There is some glyph on this door. Perhaps you could come over and take a look."

The Warden scanned the room quickly and pointed over to the door on the far wall, getting Leliana and Alistair to cover it with Shale's help. Then, she motioned to Morrigan. "I'll need your help here."

The two moved up to the door where they could see odd scrawls and sinister shapes painted into the wood. Morrigan bent down and passed her gloved hand over the glyphs. "T'is a ward of some kind. There are several, one of which keeps something trapped here. But for the door, I will have this one off in but a moment."

Alice mused at how Morrigan's attitude had changed since she had slain the Flemeth dragon and provided the Black Grimoire to the young mage. The witch was almost pleasant now except for her continued verbal abuse of Alistair and Zevran. As Alice was about to speak, the sound of sudden movement caught her attention.

"We may not _have_ a moment, witch," Oghren called out. "We got problems."

Pillars of smoke shot up from the floor and billowed outwards like great batwings, writhing and shrouding a hellish red glow that grew into a demon with skin like molten lava. "Morrigan, keep on the door," the Warden said as she drew her sword, the blade crackling with electricity as it left the scabbard. One of the rage demons lunged down at Oghren, grasping at the dwarf with flaming hands, but he dodged under its arm and smote it in the face with his hammer. Sparks and ashes burst in all directions and the demon faded into nothingness.

An arrow twanged from Leliana's bow and a bolt leapt from Alistair's crossbow into another glowing mass that was rushing in towards Oghren's flank. Sten strode forward and clove the demon from head to toe with one massive swing of the _Asala_, his giant sword. The burst of ashes and sparks knocked the big Qunari back and blinded the archers, allowing further demons to pounce on them.

Alistair fell back with a cry and tried to draw his dagger as the demon cocked a flaming fist back only to have it lopped off by a swing of Alice's sword. The demon bellowed in pain and turned to face his attacker. Alice could feel the heat radiating off of the creature's body as its eyes shone like bright, angry furnaces. It let out a cry of fury as Alice pulled her hands back and then drove the tip of her sword through the demon's open mouth. Arcs of electricity shot from the demon's head and it seemed to melt into the ground and fade away.

Looking through the slit of her visor the Warden could only see Sten and Oghren pounding on a skeleton, one striking high and one striking low. Her sallet offered great protection, but the lack of visibility was sometimes an expensive tradeoff. Steel rattled on steel as she tried to turn her head from side to side to see what was around her, but all she could get were glimpses of fire, flying arrows and hacking swords. With a frustrated sweep of her hand, she flung the visor open. "Master Wade is going to have to fix this," she said.

A tingling feeling ran along the back of her neck and she began to turn, but something seized the brim of her helm and pulled her backwards. A quick stutter step prevented her from being thrown to the ground, but strong flaming arms spun her into the wall. The Warden crashed, head first into the marred paintings of Andraste, splintering wood. Out of the corner of her eye she could see an orange glow nearly upon her and she ducked under a burning fist that hammered into the wall, throwing sparks and ash into the air. She rose and tried to skewer the demon, but it anticipated her move and pinned her sword arm to the wall.

The monster bellowed out a throaty roar, its froglike mouth opened impossibly wide and the Warden could feel the heat of its breath and hand. It reared back, threatening to bite her head off in one snap of its jaw. The timing would have to be perfect – The demon lunged and she dropped into a crouch, drawing her dagger, a broad bladed cinquedea, with her left hand. With a grunt, the Warden drew the blade along its midsection and then jammed the tip into its chest. The demon bellowed again, but this time in pain. She rose again and dragged the dagger upwards to its jaw, cutting everything in between and, with a shriek, it evaporated into smoke.

"The door, t'is open!" Morrigan called as she swung it inward. The witch was about to step in when a howling blast of icy wind tore around her and into the chapel and then, all was still. The remaining rage demons diminished in brightness and fury and faded into the walls, seeming afraid of what lay beyond the open door.

A woman's cackle echoed in the chapel, tightening the Warden's guts in an icy grip. The sound of boots and spurs on wood followed as someone…or something walked towards the open door. Morrigan took several steps backwards, the normally fearless witch's eyes opened wide. She looked back at the Warden, looking for reassurance. "J…just being cautious," she said, trying to restore some of her bravado.

Alice saw a gauntleted hand in the doorway, beckoning them. "I thought this place was abandoned," she said to Levi.

"Other than the skeletons and demons, I thought so too," he said slowly, his words drifting off with the steam from his lips.

The Warden walked forward, her own spurs clinking on the ground. Whoever was in there was at least a knight, she thought. She took a peek in through the open doorway and her blood nearly froze. A dark-haired woman stood at a rotting desk, her skin mottled and flaking, her eyes rheumy like that of a dead fish. A smile emerged through blackened and cracked lips as if she were greeting old friends. Alice let her gaze wander down from the woman's face onto her tarnished gray cuirass which bore the dented and scratched symbol of the Warden Commander of Ferelden – twin griffons _Argent_, wings displayed and elevated. The one who should be wearing that harness was Sophia Dryden…long dead Sophia Dryden.

"Come in," the walking corpse said as she gestured to a once elegant seat with now moldy cushions.

Alice moved in cautiously, eyeing the sword at the Warden Commander's hip. At least one thing here was well cared for. "Thank you, but I'd prefer to stand," she said as Alistair and Levi moved in by her side. Her upbringing took over and she made a curt bow as one noble to another. "I am Warden Cousland. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Levi leaned in close. "I think that's my great great grandmother, but it looks like she really let herself go," he whispered into the Warden's ear.

The dead woman seemed intrigued by Alice's courtesy and raised an eyebrow. She then made a hesitant bow as if trying to remember what the significance of the action was. "This one…used to be everything that was the Commander. The Dryden…Sophia," she said in a voice that held too many tones to be human.

The Warden shifted her balance and subtly eased the palm of her hand onto the grip of her sword. "So, you're a demon then?"

"Yes, but before you do anything rash, listen to my proposal. You are the first in two hundred years to succeed in coming this far. The others merely added their bones to the…defenders of this cold keep. For two hundred years all I have seen is the inside of this dark place. I yearn to see the world…to explore…to live."

Alice raised an eyebrow and curled up one side of her lip. "I've seen it. Trust me, you're better off here."

Sophia returned a surprised, curious look, cocking her head to one side as if she didn't quite understand. "So, why should I stay here? This place is dreadful! I can look into the Dryden's memories and see things of beauty, places to feed. I see a place called the Wounded Coast. It has…a ring to it. I'd like to make that home."

"You can't trust anyone out there," the Warden said, sweeping her hand towards the exit. "Everyone wants to stab you in the back and it's all about power. You'd just be miserable, demon."

"How do you know?" the demon said, a little sharply. "It is for me to experience. You have had the luxury of living out there. I have not. So, do you wish to close this tear in the Fade or not?"

"Oh, that's what's bringing in all of these undead?" the Warden said innocently, playing dumb. "Tell me more about this."

"What do you want to know? That the Dryden did battle with the fool, King Arland and that the violence of the bloodletting weakened the Fade…that the Dryden tried to do the right thing and remove that fool from the throne?"

"Yes, this is important for me to know if I'm going to make a decision."

Sophia nodded and seemed to shake with anger. "The coward, Arland, refused to sally forth himself and sent his Arls and Banns to do the bloody deed. They laid siege to the Peak for more than three months where we threw back assault after assault until provisions ran low. We ate the horses and mules first and then boiled shoe leather. Hunger and disease rampaged in the Keep and desperation set in."

"That sounds terrible. You held out against incredible odds," the Warden said, attempting to see if there was anything human left in the former Commander.

"We were caught between surrender and the gallows or one last attempt at victory. The Dryden lured Arland's forces into the Keep and then…Avernus..."

"Avernus? Avernus, the mage? What happened then?"

Sophia waved her hand dismissively and huffed. "It is nothing. Enough, do you wish my help or not?"

"Just one more moment. My companion, Levi Dryden, begs a question."

Levi stepped forward sheepishly at first and nodded his thanks at Alice. Sophia took a step back and eyed him with some suspicion. "Dryden," the demon said, "you are also a Dryden?"

The merchant bowed. "By rights, I am your great-great granson. The Drydens are now a wealthy family, but our honor and our nobility were lost here. I want to know if Sophia…if you acted honorably. I need to know this. This can restore our family name."

The edges of Sophia's lips curled up and Alice could see a bit of the demon return as the woman's humanity slipped away once again. "A fair question," the demon said. "I will sweeten the pot. I will tell Levi all that he wishes to know and help close the tear in the Fade in return for my freedom. Release me…destroy the glyphs holding me here and you shall know all."

The Warden was trying to gauge Sophia's reaction when she felt a firm hand on her arm – it was Leliana. "Warden, you don't mean to parley with this demon," the bard whispered into her ear. "They are full of lies and trickery."

The walking corpse hissed at Leliana. "Shut your mouth, you Orlesian whore or I will shut it for you." Sophia's hand went to the grip of her sword.

Alice immediately put her hands out to diffuse the tension. "Let's not be hasty. Leliana, remember Father Kolgrim and the Dragon Cult? We can talk this out, right?" she asked, hoping the bard would recall the ruse.

Leli's eyes brightened. "Oh…Kolgrim, right. This…is…Haven!" she said, baring her teeth and thumping her chest in imitation of the cult leader.

"Now, where was I?" Alice asked as she inched closer to Sophia. Demons were tricky beasts and could never be trusted. Still, it was a shame that Levi might never know the ultimate fate of his ancestor and, the fact that it seemed as if there was still a spark of whatever was Sophia Dryden…. But, she had to act now. She had to move before the demon grew wise or took the initiative. A demon in its full power was a fearsome creature. She remembered the Fade Beast that they slew in Ortan Thaig a month ago and it still gave her chills. It was now or never. "I'm sorry, Levi, we will find your answers another way," she said and pulled her sword from its scabbard in a flash.

But, the demon was ready and its eyes glowed bright red as it slid around the cut. "I knew you would be too foolish to accept my generous offer," Sophia said as she drew her sword and air began to swirl with energy and groaning shades emerged from the walls. "Feed on them, my children. Let their corpses add to our army!"


	3. I'm so lonely

**W/N -** Let's look at things from a demon's POV. As always, just a little tongue in cheek. I can just see poor Sophia singing, "I'm lonely...I'm so lonely." A little action too and the Warden doesn't quite have the kinks of her vengeance worked out just yet. One of the maneuvers presented is an envelopment, a fencing move in which you use a circular, corkscew motion of your blade around your opponent's to nullify any threat while your attack presses home.

Many thanks, roxfox for welcoming me back to writing. :)

**CODEX**

Cuisse – armor for the thigh  
>Bevor – throat guard<p>

**Soldiers Keep**** – Second Floor – Six Hours After Sunset**

There was pride in knowing what these mortals would do. They were usually predictable – their fear was something that never changed over the long ages. Sophia Dryden, as she had come to identify herself after so many years in this body, always gave them the chance to make the right choice, but they never did. So few even made it this far. Most adventurers over the past 200 years were slaughtered by her skeletal army at the gates or just inside the keep. She'd only actually spoken to three of them who made it to the 2nd floor, but the Rage Demons did them in so it wasn't much of a conversation. If there was one thing that Sophia found pride in it was in getting people to listen and do what she wanted them to do.

And while she found great satisfaction in being a powerful, ageless demon, it was difficult to bear for so long alone. She felt a growing need…a yearning for companionship, even for basic conversation. The mage Avernus, refused to speak to her and those Rage Demons were not the ideal companions – they were just so angry all the time. She once tried to train a skeleton, but all it could do was make this stuttering growl as if it were gagging on moldy bread – it was a complete and utter failure, something that wounded Sophia's pride. It was hard to admit, but she felt…lonely.

When she heard the commotion in the courtyard and looked out to see the skeletons battling with a group of adventurers, a sense of hope surged through her now human body. Though she was hungry for the essence of life the need just to hear someone's voice was even stronger. She hoped that these people were better than the last group…better than all the others who failed and joined the forces of the undead. Maybe this time she would be freed from the trap that Avernus put her in.

Then, she heard the adventurers just outside her door and could feel a mage's power undoing the glyph that had kept her in thrall for 200 years. It was too good to be true and she clenched her fists in hope. She listened to the sounds of the Rage Demon attack, but she knew that this time…this time, the people would prevail and free her. She could taste it now, like the sweet taste of a person's essence and a surge of pride filled her being. Images of the Dryden's memories flitted about in her demon brain and showed her all of the places that she would go to taste life.

The sound of the door opening caught her attention and she focused some of her power, blowing a cold wind out the portal. She could taste the fear in the hearts of the people as well as the grudging respect of the Rage Demons. It was as it should be. There was the sound of jingling spurs and a knight entered, clad in dragonbone plate that was dyed in deep blue. Sophia looked through the open visor of the knight's sallet and saw that it was a woman.

The knight was cautious, as well she should be, and did not take the seat that was offered. Instead, she stood with an edge of defiance to her as some of her friends took up by her side. Sophia could see pride in many of their faces, the pride of skill and victory in battle along with the camaraderie of shared adventures. The demon found herself envious of this and did not like it one bit. To be jealous of mortals was a weakness to be cast off.

As they spoke, Sophia could see the knight inch towards her, a hand slowly moving to the grip of a sword. The knight thought she was being sneaky. A demon as powerful as Sophia does not get to be so powerful without seeing many things. Still, she would let the knight think an advantage was gained. Humans were so predictable.

The moment the knight unleashed her sword, Sophia had already moved. An arc of silverite cut upwards from scabbard to sky just passed the tip of Sophia's nose. It was a laughable attack to one so full of pride as the demon. With a wave of her hand, Sophia summoned her Shades to attack. With a groaning howl they emerged from the walls, claws out, to rend these intruders and defend their mistress. Sophia then swept her own sword from its scabbard and batted the knight's weapon away with a _clang_ of metal on metal.

The room erupted into a frenzied melee as Shades battled the adventurers. Sophia tuned most of it out, focusing solely on the knight, but she could not help but see a creature of stone slam a rock fist into a Shade, bursting it apart into smoke and dust. _A golem?_ The knight must have been formidable indeed to have ownership of one of the fabled guardians of the Deep Roads. It would be a source of pride for the demon to own it once the knight was dead and she were free.

Sophia took the initiative and launched a series of cuts from all angles, driving the knight back. Then, she raised the tip of her sword to feint high and swung the blade low when the knight fell for the ruse. Sophia's blade cut onto the cuisse, scraping the dragonbone, but doing no serious damage. The knight's armor was magnificent and the woman smiled through her visor.

The demon came back to the guard position and felt the knight pressure her blade. She reacted to counter the pressure, but the tip of the knight's sword ducked under her guard and shot into a gap in her armor under the arm. The demon felt pain. It had been so long it was an almost completely forgotten sensation – a burning feeling in the arm while thick, black blood oozed from the wound. A look of shock covered Sophia's face as she brought her sword up to parry another attack.

This knight would not take Sophia's pride. Not after so long. Sophia snarled and they traded a series of strikes, sword ringing off of sword, with no advantage being gained either way until the demon kicked the side of the knight's knee. The knight staggered back a step and the demon cut upward, slicing along the knight's bevor over her throat. This should have ended the fight, but again, the razor edge only scratched the surface of the dragonbone and Sophia let out a frustrated grunt.

Sophia retreated a step to look around and saw that her army of Shades was being routed now. The mage that she felt earlier was aglow with energy, twirling her staff about her body as arcs of electricity shot from her hands into the Shades, bursting them like rotten tomatoes. The golem hurled another Shade to the ground, breaking it like a toy and yelled, "Squish!" Now the demon felt fear.

The grin on the knight's face was maddening. For eons the demon had known only pride, but now, she was backed into a corner like a rat. But, in her arrogance, the knight left an opening – her visor was still up. Sophia feinted low and then aimed the tip of her sword right at the knight's eye.

Time seemed to stand still as the knight's sword enveloped her own, twisting in a corkscrew that spoiled Sophia's aim. The demon was losing control of her own attack as the tip of the knight's sword moved ever closer. Then, in the blink of an eye, sharpened silverite sliced through Sophia's throat. The demon felt nothing at first and tried to speak, but only a gurgling noise came out as black bile flowed from her neck. This was impossible. No one could break her pride. But pride cometh before the fall.

Sophia staggered back and dropped her sword, putting both hands over her throat. Her back hit the wall and she slid down, her legs weak and wobbly. She looked up and saw the knight standing over her and she reached out to beg for mercy. She had to live…she had to be free to explore the world. Surely, she was no threat now and the knight could heal her. She saw the knight's eyes soften and a smile came across her lips. It was a good sign. There would be mercy and she could make her dream home on the Wounded Coast.

But, with the same smile, the knight seized Sophia's hair and the last thing the demon saw was the flash of silverite through the rest of her neck.


	4. A Gift From the Heavens

**W/N - **I'm going to split this up over two chapters as it got long. I want to bring some life to the forging of a sword and wrote in a mix of things from European and Asian forging. There is a little guest cameo, a character that I really adored, but was frustrated with and thought deserved a bit of the story. I'm taking a little artistic license with the main character here to add a little depth and passion to him. This will be a little fluffy and light before vengeance takes it course.

Other malarkey - Ran an 8k today plus swimming. Big into the Tudors at the moment along with Game of Thrones. Many thanks to roxfox and Padawan Mage!

**CODEX**

Livery Collar – a chain, often of gold, worn as an insignia of rank or fealty

**Soldiers Keep**** – The Courtyard – One Week After the Keep is Taken**

The place was actually looking like it could be livable once again. In the aftermath of the closing of the tear in the Fade, swarms of the Warden's followers and a horde of people using the Dryden name came to the keep in the hopes of returning Soldiers Peak to its prominence in Grey Warden and Ferelden politics as well as in finding a home. The sound of saws and hammers filled the air in the courtyard as workmen replaced beams and rebuilt doors and battlements. The snow had already been cleared from the area and small shops, set up to support the rebuilding, had already open for business.

Mikhail Dryden quickly found himself a very busy man as the Warden had commissioned him to forge weapons for her growing army. His apprentices carefully hauled the forge and all of the implements up the hill and set them up exactly as it had been in Tantervale in the Free Marches a few years ago. With hammer and tongs now hanging above the anvil, Mikhail began selecting pieces of iron that would become axe, mace and sword.

His cousin, Levi, strode through the keep, barely able to contain his excitement. "Mikhail, Mikhail! We have a new home! Look at this!" he said, sweeping his hand across the courtyard where brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces and all the others of the Dryden clan were working and playing.

Mikhail, ever a stoic one, simply nodded. "It is good, cousin," he said as he squeezed the bellows that brought the fire in the forge to an orange glow. He pointed to one of his apprentices. "Go get more coal. There is much work to be done." He nodded to Levi with the hint that his cousin should let him work.

Levi seemed to take the hint. "I'll…let you get back to forging, Mikhail," he said and turned to leave, but he looked back one more time. "Oh, and Mikhail, the Warden and Prince Alistair wish to meet with us in an hour. I believe the Dryden fortunes are looking up. And, I'm sorry that I did not discover the truth about Sophia. I suppose we will never know now."

"I suppose not." Mikhail pursed his lips and used the tongs to pull an iron blank from the forge and placed it on the anvil. Another apprentice moved in and took the tongs while handing the smith a hammer. He struck the glowing blank, sending white hot sparks into the air. "We will have to work quickly, boy. We only have an hour. Our work saves lives, thank the Maker." He really didn't care about Sophia or the long lost titles of the Dryden family. His care went into iron and steel and the living creations that he made with them.

The hour went by quickly, but Mikhail had made much progress. He plunged the long, flat piece of metal into the trough of cold water, sending up steam into the chilly air. Then, he laid it on his work table and apprentices covered it with cloth. "All right, we will take a break now. Get some food and drink and then prepare more blanks for forging and begin carving handles and grips. I'll be back soon and I want the forge to be ready. You understand?"

His apprentices nodded in unison. Over the years they had become a well oiled machine, forging quality weapons for warriors across Ferelden and the Free Marches. It was something he could be proud of. Without another word he left and walked over to the gathering near the keep.

The Warden, Lady Alice, stood with Alistair and her Mabari hound along with a young elven girl with wheat blonde hair. Several of the Drydens were already there with Levi standing at their head. The Warden was not dressed in armor, but wore an emerald colored gown with hair styled in ringlets, which matched the appearance of the young girl. Mikhail was never one for ceremony and just nodded to the party. "Wardens…cousins."

The Warden and the girl made curtsy to him while Alistair made a respectful bow. The girl went up and touched Mikhail's rough hands. "Greetings, Master Dryden, I am Amethyne, Lady Cousland's adopted daughter. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Mikhail was a tough man with a heart of iron, but the girl made him smile. He had heard a little of her story and felt pity for all of those who suffered. He got down on his haunches and looked Amethyne in the eye. "Young lady, I will make you a gift soon, crafted with my own hands. Would you like that?" Amethyne gave him a shy smile and nodded and then ran back behind her adopted mother.

Lady Alice rubbed the girl on her head. "I knew her mother at Highever…Iona was her name. She perished in the sack of the castle…another thing I will make Arl Howe pay for. I found Amethyne in the Elven Alienage in Denerim and I brought her here." It was clear that the Warden had a lot of affection for the girl. In his short time of traveling with the Warden, Mikhail learned that the woman was an often confusing mix of kindness and cruelty.

Then, the Warden turned back to Levi and reached down into a purse to retrieve a golden livery collar with the badge of a silver griffon. She placed the collar around Levi's neck and announced, "As the acting commander of the Wardens in Ferelden…all two of us…I hereby bestow Levi Dryden with the title of Senechal and Steward of The Peak with all privileges and rights therein."

Levi was speechless. He knelt and took the Warden's hands in his and then did this with Alistair as well, kissing the Theirin signet ring that he now wore. Mikhail nodded. His cousin finally received the thing that he had searched for all these years even if they would never know the truth about their ancestor – their family honor.

"But, a title is only a title," the Warden continued. "Levi, your family never lost its honor and the Drydens I see around me prove this."

Mikhail's iron heart was moved and he stifled a sniffle. Usually a man uncomfortable with displays of affection, he swallowed his discomfort and patted Levi on the back. I could not be said that the man of iron had _no_ heart.

"And, there is one last thing," the Warden added. She lifted up a heavy glob of dark metal and held it out to Mikhail. "This is our gift to you, Master Mikhail. I recovered it from a fallen-"

"Meteor," he finished. He knew what this was and the magnificence of the find. He took the glob in his hands and felt the pulsing energy from the ore. It was almost difficult to breathe as he admired the veins of silver and blue that streaked the darker metal. "I…I am honored, my lady." He set the glob down and took her hand. "Please, allow me to forge you a weapon…a weapon of unsurpassed might."

All it took was a nod and Mikhail scooped up the ore and dashed back to his forge. A grin crossed his usually stoic face as he laid the ore on his table with a _thunk_. "Boys, from this metal that fell from the sky, let us forge a sword, the like of which will never be seen again," he said, electrifying his apprentices.


	5. The Hand of the Smith

**W/N - **Ok, make that three parts to the final chapter. It's just more manageable for me.

**CODEX**

Tang – part of the blade that extends into the handle of the sword

**Soldiers Keep**** – The Courtyard – Nine Days After the Keep is Taken**

The shop flew into a flurry of activity as two boys manned the bellows, blowing air into the forge to fuel the fires and bring the coals to an almost white glow. "Place the ore into the furnace with the clay and slowly lower the temperature so we can separate the metal for forging." The glob went in, covered in liquid clay and soon became nearly as white as the coals. Despite the intense heat, Mikhail kept his face near to the inferno, watching for even the subtlest changes in color. The glob became runny and Mikhail signaled his boys. "Now, vent the heat. Let's bring it down notch. Slowly…slowly," he said, pushing the palm of his hand down several times. The boys opened the vents at the top of the forge and smoke billowed out into the darkening sky as molten metal began to flow into stone troughs to form a blank for a sword. When the mass cooled to the right reddish orange, the smith threw in handfuls of straw and fine grain sand…just enough for the right carbon content.

His face glistening with sweat, Mikhail grunted. It was good, but they would have to wait the entire night for the process to finish. A master smith never rushed things. "Get some sleep, boys. There is no more for you to do for now. I will need you fresh in the morning." As excited as they were, the apprentices knew better than to argue and they lined up sleeping rolls and slid in. There would be no rest for the master smith though. The melting ore would need constant attention overnight as slag channeled out of the furnace, purifying the metal. Every half hour, Mikhail would shovel snow on the smoldering slag and then throw in more handfuls of straw and sand into the mix. Even as his arms grew weary and his eyelids heavy, he pressed on, feeling his soul being purified along with the ore. "Blessed Maker," he would say each time, "help me to save lives through my craft."

Morning was quickly upon him and he blinked heavily at the light of the rising sun. It was time – he would either have smelted the finest metal in Ferelden or he would be left with shiny rubbish best used for honeypots in the King's privy. Nerves were getting the better of him and he threw a bucket of cold water on his boys. "Get up! We will see what we have."

With heavily gloved hands, Mikhail and the apprentices pulled the troughs from the now dying flame and eased them onto the work table. In one trough, the silvery metal sloshed slowly like mercury, finally settling into shape of a block. In another trough, darker, grayish liquid congealed into metal with a lower carbon content. Each would have its special purpose.

Tired though he was, Mikhail motioned for the his son, the chief apprentice to bring him his robes. The young man brought out the white garment that was used for only the most significant of occasions. For the smith, forging was not just a profession, but a religion. Following the righteous traditions laid down by the greatest artisans of his guild, he carefully washed his face and hands in water that was blessed in the chapel of Andraste by the new Revered Mother of the keep. Then, he donned the robes and a gossamer black cap and had one of the boys tie the sleeves back so that his arms had maximum freedom of movement. He knelt before the image of blessed Andraste that hung on the eastern wall and motioned his apprentices to do likewise. "Give thanks to blessed Andraste for the gifts that we are about to receive and for the inspiration to do her work to bring her light to the four corners of the world."

He grunted as he rose. Without having to speak, his apprentices knew what he needed. The moment he arrived at the anvil it had already been coated with water and two boys were already pulling down on the bellows to force air into the furnace. The fire roared and Mikhail grabbed the metal blank with tongs and shoved it into the inferno. The blank soon glowed a fiery red and then orange and the smith pulled it out and slapped it on the anvil, sending steam sizzling up into the ceiling. All he had to do now was to put his open hand out and a hammer was placed on his palm. Mikhail looked down at the now rubbery metal and his heart skipped a beat. It was the right color for steel or silverite, but he had never worked this legendary material before. What if he got it wrong? What if he ruined the chance to make a sword for the ages? There was no holding back now. All he could do was trust his decades of training and pound. Hammer met metal and sparks burst like a flower. Instantly, he fell into an old familiar rhythm as his arm rose and fell and his boys constantly repositioned the blank. _Ping, ping, ping. _The metal was cooling rapidly and turning back to silver and he waved his other hand to signal the next event in the orchestra of smithing.

An apprentice held a wedge on the metal and Mikhail drove it down, nearly cutting the blank in two. Tongs grasped the floppy end and folded the metal back onto itself as someone threw straw and coke between the layers to strengthen carbon content and to remove bubbles in the metal. The smith began hammering again, a fine sweat building on his forehead, which was immediately wiped away by a boy. More water splashed on the blank, sizzling like a steak and Mikhail thrust the blank once more into the furnace.

Again, he waited for the right shade of orange that told him that the layers had fused and then he slapped the blank on the anvil and, along with the steam, impure slag bubbled away from the metal and was swept into a bag for later use. Mikhail hammered again, _ping, ping, ping_, sealing the two layers together and then had an apprentice place the wedge. _Pong!_ The hammer came down and nearly split the blank again. Coke and straw went into the gap between layers and the blank went back into the fire.

The orchestra was now in full swing and Mikhail's earlier fear was now gone. Two layers became four and then four became eight and eight became sixteen layers of metal, each infused with carbon and coke to strengthen the metal and to remove impurities in the folds. Like a conductor, the smith would make the subtlest of gestures and the apprentices would react, pouring water on the anvil or exchanging one hammer for another. A pronounced twitch of his hand would mean to add more straw or a cock of his head would tell the boys to pump the bellows faster. It was teamwork…from a team that Mikhail spent years forging just like a sword. With each breath, with each stroke of the hammer, he poured his spirit into the metal. As the future sword gained in power, he knew that he would diminish. A day would come when he would pass the hammer and tongs to another and that person needed to be ready. They needed to know the art of smithing as well as he did. Just as his father had asked him, he asked his son, "Jacob, how many folds can we put into the metal?"

"Eleven, father."

"What happens if you fold too many times?"

"The metal becomes brittle and the layers delaminate."

"How many layers come about with eleven folds?"

"Two thousand and forty eight."

Mikhail grunted and made a sour expression, but father and son knew that it meant he was pleased. The smith struck the blank one more time and then shoved it back into the furnace. "Blessed Andraste, the folding is done. Prepare for the next phase," he said as he pulled the metal back out and then dipped it into a bucket of water to cool. "When you are done we will pray and rest for the evening."

For an hour, smith and apprentices prayed in the chapel of the keep, asking the Maker for strength and protection. Mikhail always insisted upon strict adherence to prayers and fasting during the forging of a master blade. They ate naught but bread and vegetables and drank naught but water to ensure that their bodies were cleansed. In the morning, they rose and returned to the forge with a single minded purpose.

The blank was thrust back into the fire until it was again glowing orange. Mikhail pulled it out and held up one hand, fingers together like a knife's edge. Jacob immediately put a wedge onto the metal and Mikhail pounded a groove into the blank, forming a pocket on the back. "What am I doing, Jacob?"

"We are going to insert the duller metal into the groove so that the sword will be forged of two metals, one hard and one soft."

"Why?"

"So that the sword will hold a hard edge, yet be resilient and unbreakable."

Mikhail grunted. He hammered on the blank, melding the two metals into one piece. He looked up at his apprentices. "Now, we make a sword," he said and Jacob handed him a larger hammer. With the might of his arms and body, he struck the metal, slower than before, but harder. _Pang! Pang! Pang!_ His eyes would focus on one exact spot on the metal and that is exactly where the hammer would fall, each and every time without doubt, without fail. Slowly, the blank grew longer and longer as it flattened on the anvil. With a twitch of his hand, more water poured over the anvil, washing away impure metal and keeping the blank at the right temperature. By the end of the day, what had once been a glob of meteoric ore now looked like a sword.

Day faded into night and burst into day again with prayers and fasting. The fires were stoked once again and the ringing of the hammer could be heard through the courtyard. A tang was hammered and cut into the metal where a grip and hilts would go. Now, with a small hammer, Mikhail tapped at the tip and the cutting edges, thinning and shaping them. "Jacob, why am I using the small hammer?"

"The cutting edges and tip are delicate right now. Hit too hard and the metal fractures."

As if by magic, the tip became longer and longer and the edges continued to be tapered as Mikhail moved the blade along the anvil, tapping here and there, never letting the metal get too cool. Every so often, he would deliver a heavy hit, stretching the blade out more until it was the length of a longsword. "What is the goal of a master smith at this point?"

"That the blade is already in its proper shape and requires little filing."

Mikhail plunged the blade into the water bucket and then set it on the table. "Inspect it."

Jacob picked up the unfinished sword and examined its length. "It's straight. No heating or bending required. The shape and thickness need no modification. The edges are formed and just need sharpening."

The smith grunted his approval. The hardest part was yet to come though. As expected, his apprentices had laid out files and gritty stones and Mikhail picked one up and looked down at the dull, unfinished blade. He exhaled heavily and then set the file down.

"Is something wrong, father?"

"Jacob, it is time," he said and handed the file to his son.

Jacob looked horrified and backed away. "Father…no. This blade is to be your masterpiece. I…I cannot."

"You have been my apprentice for fifteen years. You are a Dryden. You are the future," he said as he pushed the file at Jacob again.

The young man took it and looked hesitantly down at the blade. He slowly grasped the sword and put the file to the metal.

"That's right, Jacob. File down any irregularities or uneven surfaces. Slowly…gently, like you know how to do."

The file brushed along the dull surface of the blade, shaving away metal flakes and bumps until the metal was smooth to the touch. Jacob handed the blade to Mikhail, who ran his fingers along the metal and nodded. His…no _their_ masterpiece was nearly complete. "Get the mixture, hurry," the smith said, pointing to a cooler where his secret ingredients had been settling for just this moment. Jacob led the other apprentices to retrieve the bowl of brown liquid and brought it over to the work table. Mikhail dug his fingers into the goo and squeezed them, feeling the cool muddy mixture of riverbed clay. "More charcoal and grind up more sandstone."

Jacob brushed flakes of coal into the clay and then rasped sandstone into the mix. Mikhail mushed the slurry in his hands, fusing the ingredients until the feel was just right. Then, he handed the bowl to Jacob and nodded. His son accepted the bowl, but began to sweat in spite of the cold. He was as nervous as the first day that he lathered an anvil with water or arranged tools, tasks for the most junior of apprentices. A long time had gone by since then and Jacob had grown into a man…a true Dryden that a father could be proud of. Like his father had shown him, Jacob took a number of small spatulas of differing shapes and sizes. He stirred the clay and then began scooping it onto the cutting edges of the blade, spreading it thicker here and thinner there. The exact composition of the mixture was a secret known only to Mikhail at the moment and it set him apart from every other smith in Thedas.

He pointed at a spot on the blade. "Not too thin, Jacob. We need to have the metal properly insulated or the edge may crack. Just a little more."

Jacob added a bit more slurry and began to impart the design that signified the Dryden smiths. The mixture was unique among the guilds and every guild had its own secret ingredients and every smith had his or her own unique pattern and Mikhail had been given this from his father and his father before him and for three generations before that. Though they had lost their titles and their nobility, the Drydens still had their craft and their honor. Finally, Jacob applied thick, uneven lines of clay that ran from edge to edge. Smithing could not only be utilitarian, but it could be beautiful too and that would define this sword for the ages.

Mikhail watched with both joy and fear as his son finished applying the clay. Someday, his son, a Dryden, would take over the guild and be a master smith. He knew, deep down, that his weapons were weapons of war…of killing. He was certainly not naive, but his beliefs and his faith told him that the sword was also one to protect life, to protect faith. Every weapon that he forged, he hoped that a life would be saved by it. Now, he hoped to save a kingdom.

Jacob showed him the clay coated blade and Mikhail nodded. There was no more that could be done. Once the process was complete, there was no knowing if they would have a masterpiece or useless shards of metal. Tonight, it would be up to the Maker and Blessed Andraste.


	6. Starfang

**W/N - **Ok, here it is, the real finale. It took some things from the making of a katana such as the hamon or martensite edge of the blade. Let's have a little feel good before it gets all dark again. I've got a Mass Effect idea brewing and I may pick up in the Cerberus Lazurus Project Lab.

**CODEX**

**Soldiers Keep**** – The Courtyard – Twelve Days After the Keep is Taken**

In the evening they fasted and prayed. Every ounce of Mikhail's faith would be tested this night. In absolute silence they entered the smithy and took their places. Covered candles gave off a dim glow, giving just enough light to work in. Mikhail signaled the boys to heave on the bellows and the fire began to smolder and then roar. He picked up the blade, now encased in dried clay and examined every line and every smudge in the casing. He couldn't have done it better himself, but still he fretted. This step was the most dangerous of all. He snapped his fingers and other boys filled a trough with the coldest of icy water. Then, he looked into the furnace and saw that the charcoal was the perfect shade of orange. He nodded to Jacob.

With tongs in hand, his son thrust the blade into the furnace and soon, the metal glowed through the clay. The timing would have to be perfect, just the right color, just the right amount of steam, just the right number of sparks. Just as Mikhail was about to lose his composure and shout, Jacob pulled the sword from the furnace and plunged it into the ice cold water.

Mikhail closed his eyes in hope, fear and prayer as he heard the water sizzling and bubbling. Would the blade crack? Would it warp beyond all use? Ten things could go wrong here. The sizzling soon died away and he heard metal _thunk_ on the table and the sound of hardened clay shattering. He held his breath.

"Father…."

Mikhail slowly opened his eyes and thought he was blinded for a moment. A blade…a finished blade lay before him, its bright glow fading into glorious silver with pulsing veins of blue. "Dear Andraste, it's beautiful. It is…a work of art."

The metal now cool enough to touch, he put the blade onto the table and etched his name into the tang and then held out the weapon for his son to do the same. He then etched in the name of the owner, Warden Alice Cousland. And, like that, the three became immortalized in metal and art. A thousand years hence, someone would look at the tang and know the three people who made this masterpiece possible.

Mikhail quickly put polished hilts, a leather wrapped handle and a finely crafted pommel on the weapon. They spent the rest of the night sharpening the edges to razor perfection whereupon they brushed the metal with an acid wash, bringing out a mirror shine. As dawn broke, Mikhail knew that they had a sword and this sword was a dragon slayer.

He was tired, so very tired, but there were still things to do and he could not rest until they were done. Some of his apprentices had already drifted off, but he took Jacob to find the dwarf, Sandal. All Mikhail had to say was, "Enchantment," and the boy was in ecstasy. The savant took the sword and, with blinding speed, engraved an image of the Warden in a thoughtful pose, holding a rose on one side and then a series of arcane symbols on the other. He polished the carvings and handed the blade back to Mikhail.

"Enchantment!"

Mikhail tousled the boy's hair and gave him a big smile. "You can enchant with me anytime, Sandal. You have helped me to create my life's work."

As the dwarf skipped off, Mikhail held the sword up, letting the rising sun reflect off of its polished surface that looked like stars shimmering on the sea at dawn. He patted Jacob on the back. "Get some rest son. Tell the Warden that I will see her for dinner," he said as he walked back to the smithy. There was one last thing to do.

Dinner came quickly and Mikhail bathed and prayed to cleanse himself before the Maker. He put the sword into the leather and brass scabbard that he had made and took a pouch with him to keep's banquet hall. Dressed in the simple robes of a smith he entered and bowed to Warden and Alistair and then to the Senechal, his cousin, Levi. He looked around to see his apprentices seated at a table full of bountiful platters, covered in meats, game, vegetables and fruit. Soldiers Peak had once again burst into life and it would be good to call this place home. Mikhail put two hands on the scabbard and held his creation out. "Warden, here is your sword. It was my life's honor to create this before the eyes of the Maker and Blessed Andraste."

"Thank you, Master Mikhail," she said and reached for the scabbard, but he pulled the weapon back and watched her surprise.

"There is one thing and one thing only that I ask of you to receive this sword. My craft is meant to save lives and this is a life giving sword. Keep it and use it to save people and to bring justice. That is what a sword represents. Bring peace to the land," he said and then reoffered the weapon.

The Warden nodded solemnly and took the sword, drawing it slowly with her hand. It shimmered as it left the scabbard, its blue veins pulsing with power. Along the cutting edge, a unique pattern like billowing clouds floated along the metal, gradually fading into the heart of the blade. As she raised it over her head, the tip burst into light like the morning star. Alice gasped. "I…I shall, Master Mikhail. I thank you," she said as she resheathed the sword and bowed low. "I name this weapon, Starfang."

The smith nodded with satisfaction and then looked down at the young elven girl. She looked up at him with hopeful eyes and he gave her a wink. He reached into his pouch and pulled up a necklace of silver with pulsing blue veins that changed ever so slightly in hue as it caught different lights. It was as beautiful as a rainbow, as light as a spider's web, but as strong as dragon bone, made from the shavings of metal left over from the sword. He clasped the necklace around young Amethyne's neck and she wrapped her arms around his waist. He could feel her tears through his robe and he put both of his hands over her head, rubbing gently.

Yes, he had found a place to call home.


End file.
